Harper's Round Table, July 21, 1896

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• Language: English
• Publisher: iOnlineShopping.com
• Release date: Jan 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9788832507522

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TIMID COUSIN VIC.

BY WILLIAM DRYSDALE.

To tell the story of Will Hall's trip to the tropics may seem like telling dangerous secrets and getting people into trouble. But there is this to be considered about it: If the Spaniards catch Will's father, they will shoot him, anyhow; so it can do no harm to admit that Henry Hall, who is Will's father, and David Hall, who is Will's uncle, are engaged in the perilous business of carrying patriots across from the Florida Keys to the Cuban coast.

Will has nothing whatever to do with this business, for he is a school-boy in New York, storing his mind with regular and irregular verbs, and a vast amount of information about football and '96 pneumatic tires. So when his father took him down in the schooner to the Florida Keys to visit Uncle David, Will had no idea that ten days after leaving New York he would be crawling through a Cuban thicket, dodging Spanish soldiers.

Matacumbia Key, at the very tip of Florida, where Uncle David lives with his daughter Vic, is a long way from New York, and Will had never seen either of them, and, of course, had never seen their house on the beach, with the whole Florida Strait for a front yard, and nothing between their shady piazza and the Cuban coast but eighty miles of salt water.

There ought to be some sport down there, he told the boys before he started. Plenty of boating and fishing, you know, and cocoanut-trees, with monkeys in them, I suppose, and maybe some sharks to kill. Lonesome, though. You see, there ain't many people, and my cousin Vic is only fourteen. A little country girl of fourteen can't be much company for a New York chap nearly sixteen.

There was sport in plenty, but not exactly the kind that Will expected. The little country girl took her cousin in hand in a way that astonished him, and would have made him miserable if the Cuban adventure had not given him a chance to show what he was made of.

At first Vic was shy—painfully shy. She kept her eyes cast down, and only answered Yes, sir, or No, sir, when Will spoke to her.

I think I can bring her out after a while, he said to himself. Of course she'd be a little timid at the start, 'specially with a fellow from a big place like New York. She's a pretty girl, too.

About that there could be no doubt. Vic was large for her age, and the tan on her round cheeks tried to hide their natural pink, but did not quite succeed. When her work was done (for, being motherless, she was cook and house-keeper), she generally put on her boating-suit of blue flannel, which was as good as a bathing-suit, and it did not interfere when she chose to wade out to her pet sharpie, anchored just off the beach.

The fathers were busy with their schooner, and with the men camped in the bush waiting to be carried over to Cuba, and Will and Vic were left to their own resources.

Can you shoot? Vic asked one morning, very timidly, hardly raising her eyes.

Rather! Will exclaimed. I wish I'd brought my gun along.

I have a rifle, Vic said, and ran into the house and brought the rifle and a box of cartridges.

Will measured off thirty paces, and stood a big cocoanut on top of a stump.

Vic handled the rifle as if she were afraid of it, and took the first shot. The cocoanut did not stir. Then Will fired without hitting. After three or four rounds Will's bullet grazed the side of the nut, and he was duly elated.

You'll be all right with more practice, he told her. I've practised a great deal in shooting-galleries.

I think the mark is too low for me, she answered, with becoming humility. Pin a bit of paper to that tree beside the stump, about as high as your head.

Will pinned up a scrap of paper half the size of his hand, and they fired several rounds without touching it. Then Vic started toward the house with the rifle.

Not going to give it up, are you? he called. But her only answer was Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five—she was pacing. When she reached one hundred, she stopped and turned—one hundred paces from the tiny mark.

You stand there by the tree, she called, and see whether I can hit the old thing from here.

Will laughed, and obeyed. Crack! went the rifle.

Why, he cried, you've hit it right in the centre! I don't suppose you could do that again in a week!

I'll try, Vic answered, and fired again.

Well, upon my word! Will shouted. You've hit it again! What a remarkable accident!

Vic fired again, and made a third hole in the paper.

That time Will did not say a word. He began to suspect something. Vic fired twice more, and made two more holes. The first hole was right in the centre, and the other four made a neat little circle around it.

All right, Cousin Vic, Will said, as he handed her the paper; I owe you one. You're a dead shot with a rifle, and you've been making a beautiful guy of me.

But Vic only laughed, and looked as timid as ever.

Next morning the sky was overcast, and Will suggested a sail in Vic's sixteen-foot sharpie.

Don't you think it's rather rough? she asked, looking doubtfully from the sky to the water. Do you think it would be safe?

Safe as a house! Will answered, decidedly. You needn't be afraid; I'm an old hand with a boat.

After some hesitation Vic consented, and even determined that she had better sail the boat herself, as she was more used to the rigging.

All right, Will gallantly said. If anything happens I can swim enough for both of us.

The water was so much rougher than it looked from shore that Will began to feel uneasy about having a girl at the helm. They were a mile from the house, bobbing up and down on the waves like a cork in a mill-race, when Vic said they had gone far enough, and put the tiller suddenly hard down.

Look out! Ease her up! Will shouted; but it was too late. The sharpie went over like a flash, and they were both thrown into the water.

Vic went down instantly, and then came up with her arms waving wildly.

Help! help! she cried, and the next instant she disappeared again.

Will was holding on to the slender foremast, but he let go and sprang toward his cousin. When she came up again he seized her.

Now do as I tell you, or we'll both drown, he said, as calmly as he could. Don't grab me, but put one hand on my back and let yourself float.

She did as he told her, and he struck out toward the boat, and soon righted it, for Will was an excellent swimmer. Vic seemed limp as a rag, but he put her hands on the gunwale, and told her to hold on there while he baled out the water, and then he climbed in and helped Vic in over the stern.

Take me home, she muttered, leaning helpless against the side, and Will headed the boat for the beach.

Oh, Will! she said, when they were nearly back, how can I ever thank you for saving my life?

Pshaw! he exclaimed; that was nothing. You know I told you I am a pretty good swimmer.

A minute more— she gasped; then her feelings overcame her, and she buried her face in her hands.

When the boat was anchored, Vic waded ashore, and ran toward the house very spryly for a girl who had been so weak a few minutes before. The two fathers had returned, and were sitting on the piazza, and when Vic ran up the steps, laughing, Will thought it was because she wished to make as light as possible of her danger.

Now, Mary Victoria Hall, her father said, much to Will's surprise, "you've got to stop that sort of thing. I saw that little caper out in the boat, and I'm not going to have you playing such tricks on your cousin. You must look out for this girl, Will, as she is the worst tease in Florida. There is not a better sailor than she in all the Keys, and nothing could upset her unless she chose. Why, she sails that sharpie fifteen miles to school every day in winter, and she knows every rock and reef. She tipped you over purposely, to give you